


Asyr Darklighter

by ErrantAdventure



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Bothans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 17:17:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErrantAdventure/pseuds/ErrantAdventure
Summary: Asyr Darklighter lives between worlds - human and Bothan, military and civilian, war and peace - and she is still working on finding herself. She's getting politically involved, but perhaps she's getting in deeper than she meant to.





	Asyr Darklighter

Her brother had gone into the Galactic Alliance military, following in their father’s footsteps. But he was human; even with the strides made after the fall of the Empire, the galactic government still had millennia of humanocentrism to overcome, and it was simply easier to be a human in its military. Not only that, but the Bothans still maintained a state of _ar’krai_ —total war—against the Yuuzhan Vong despite their surrender to the Galactic Alliance. Being a Bothan in the GA was not a pleasant experience these days.

Asyr Darklighter stepped down into the dim cantina, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. _Besides_ , she thought. _I’m a Bothan with human parents. Not belonging is my default state._ She made her way toward the bar, brushing aside a surly Gotal who glared and stood too close, and found an empty stool. Her contact was supposed to be here in five minutes. _Which of course means they’re already here, sizing me up._ She ordered a lomin-ale, drank a few sips, and waited. She took a look around, doing a bit of her own surveillance. Less than half of the bar’s patrons were Ithorians—they were not big drinkers, typically, and so cantinas like this one tended to be more for non-Ithorian residents and visitors to gather and carouse. Borao was majority-Ithorian, but unlike the now-dead Ithor, it had a large non-Ithorian population. Asyr knew it hadn’t been easy for the Ithorians to try to rebuild their society here.

Several minutes passed, and Asyr grew antsy. After all, she was not a spy. Clandestine meetings were neither her forte nor her preferred mode—but curiosity about her people had taken her strange places. _I wish I could talk to my father about all this. But I don’t think he’d understand. He certainly wouldn’t have a clear vantage point to give me advice._ Asyr took another drink. _The bright side is that arranging clandestine meetings is the most classically Bothan thing I could be doing—my biological family would be proud._

A large human approached the bar. He was hairless—moreso than most of them—dark-skinned, and stern. He leaned on the bar near her, not trying to hide the fact that he was staring at her. She stared back. If there was one thing she’d learned during her brief experience in seedy places like this, it was that timidity was rewarded with unwelcome attention. He moved closer nonetheless. Asyr sighed. Such was the norm for females of any species in bars. She looked around, wondering if anyone else was paying attention. _Of course not._

“ _Ralroost_ has flown the coop,” the man said, his rumbly voice barely registering over the din of the cantina. Asyr resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the stupid pun; ridiculous though it may be, it had made the passphrase easy to remember. She could not resist the shudder that ran through her fur, any more than a human could resist goosebumps. Her contact was here.

“She left her eggs in Drev’starn,” Asyr said, the equally cringy and equally memorable scripted reply. “You’re late.”

The man’s face remained unchanged. “Security precautions. You were scanned. You have the list?”

“I do.” Asyr started to reach for the datacard in her hip pocket.

The man put his hand up. “Not here. You and I are just getting a drink. A pleasant conversation between old friends.”

Asyr stared at the man’s impassive face for a moment. “Pleasant. Yes.” He didn’t seem to catch her sarcasm.

“After we have waited here for some time,” the man said, after a few moments of silence, “we will proceed to the dropoff point. It is imperative that we not be followed, which means it will be necessary that you take care to stay with me as I take a circuitous route. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Asyr said, trying to subtly look around the 180-degree arc of the room in front of her. _Is anyone watching me and Perky?_ A couple of patrons could have been—three or four different lone drinkers, facing vaguely toward Asyr’s section of the bar. _Are they just drinking alone and staring off into space? Or are they waiting for us to make a move? Are those even the patrons I should keep my eye on?_ Asyr sighed and returned her attention to her contact. “So what do you do for fun?”

Perky raised his eyebrows. _Score, a reaction._ “I am an accomplished mechanic. I have several refurbished swoops.”

_Force, how did he manage to make that sound boring?_ “Do you race them too?”

He shook his head. “I rent them to those who do. I am a capable swoop jockey, but I do not get the thrill from racing that many do.”

Asyr gaped at him. _Does he hear himself?_ Before she could respond, the man stood, gestured to Asyr to follow him, and headed for the exit. Asyr tried to balance haste and nonchalance as she caught up to him, then, blinking in the sudden sunlight, fell into the street crowd behind him and stayed as close as she could as he wove through them. She kept a hand on her hip pocket, loathe to risk losing the datacard in a moment of negligence.

She glanced back, trying not to be too obvious, and in her quick scan of the crowd saw none of the cantina patrons she’d appraised. Her contact was hard to keep up with, though, so she quickly turned back around and kept her eye solidly on him. They walked for blocks, to the point where she felt like their destination’s distance from the cantina was no longer the result of security concerns but rather just plain mean, and finally arrived at an apartment complex near the edge of downtown.

Her contact approached the entrance, next to which stood another human male, smoking and transparently watching them. Perky met his eyes and kept going. _Safe to assume they’re on the same side, I think._ Asyr passed the guard without turning her head, trying to ignore the feeling of his eyes tracking her.

Inside, they traipsed up four flights of stairs, past a couple of small Twi’lek children playing in a landing and a Rodian mother unlocking her apartment door while her baby cried on her hip. Perky stopped in front of one of several nondescript doors in this hallway and keyed it open. Asyr followed him inside to a mostly-empty living space, with only a single couch on one side and a table with two chairs on the other. A Bothan and a human sat on the couch, discussing something in hushed tones. A human woman sat at the table, a dismantled piece of tech strewn across it, tongue sticking out as she concentrated on connecting two tiny parts.

Perky led her through the living space to a closed door. He knocked, and then opened it when they heard a voice say “come.” They entered, and found a more substantially appointed room, with stacks of crates, computers, and a single large desk in the corner. At the desk sat a black-and-white-furred female Bothan. She looked Asyr square in the eye for longer than was comfortable, her piercing violet eyes sizing Asyr up and sending a small shudder down the fur on the back of her neck.

“Thank you, Quilmot,” the Bothan said, and the man nodded and turned to leave. “Have a seat,” she said to Asyr. Asyr heard the door seal behind her, and suddenly felt more nervous than she had all day. She pulled out the chair opposite the other Bothan and sat down, trying her best to remain stoic and graceful. The Bothan was quiet a moment. “You have the files?”

“Yes ma’am.” Asyr fumbled in her hip pocket for the datacard, producing it with a proud flourish.

The Bothan woman took it, inserted it into her datapad, and starting scanning the screen. She was vaguely familiar, but Asyr couldn’t place her. “Good. Thank you. These may prove invaluable. Do you know what it is you gave me?”

Asyr nodded, then immediately considered whether she was supposed to pretend she didn’t. _Too late._ “The names and contact details for Bothans who wish to participate in subversion of the official _ar’krai_ edict.”

The Bothan tapped a claw on the screen. “And is your name on this list?”

“Of course.”

The Bothan raised an eyebrow. “Good.” She returned her attention to the datapad, accessing various subfolders and leaving Asyr to look awkwardly around the room. Still deep in concentration, she asked, “What is your clan?”

Asyr’s ears flattened on her head, the equivalent of a human flush of embarrassment, and she stumbled over her tongue. “I…I don’t know.” The Bothan narrowed her eyes, then nodded, prompting Asyr to say more. “My parents were apparently renegades or something, because when they died, when I was very young, they had no identification on them, no records, and seemingly left no traces for authorities to follow.” Asyr shook her head. “I’ve had blood work done, and that narrowed it down, but they couldn’t conclusively determine whether I was Clan Lis or Clan Ora.” The two clans were closely related, which at different times in their histories had made them close allies and bitter rivals.

“What clan raised you, then?”

If Asyr’s ears could get flatter, they would have. She’d hoped to get out of any exchanges with Bothans without this coming up—and usually, she could. She was more afraid than usual of disappointing this very intense woman. “None…I was adopted by humans. They gave me a new name. I was so young I didn’t talk yet, so I couldn’t tell them my birth name.”

The other Bothan sighed, and her eyes softened for the first time. “It must be hard having a human name.”

“I share their family name, but my given name is Bothan: Asyr.”

The Bothan sat back.

“It’s not a common one, I’m told. My parents said my namesake’s mother named her—“

“After a flower.”

Asyr cocked her head. “Uh…right. She was my father’s first love, and she died a hero.”

The black and white Bothan, who, up until now, had seemed unruffled by Asyr’s personal life, now wore her fur plastered flat against her neck and cheeks, leaning forward on her elbows, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes searching Asyr’s face for…something. “What is your surname, Asyr?”

Asyr narrowed her eyes. Very few people in this operation outside of her immediate contacts new her full name. Very few of them knew about her family, even; her story was a unique one, and it made her a foreigner among her own people. All of the anonymity was for good reason, of course—if her involvement in the anti- _ar’krai_ movement became known to the True Victory Party that led Bothawui’s government, she could be in danger. But she had trusted this Bothan thus far. _For some reason_. Still, her need to know seemed so… _genuine. Personal. Desperate._

“Darklighter,” Asyr let out before she could reconsider.

The other Bothan sat back, let out a heavy sigh, and stared off into the distance. “He named you after me?” she whispered, almost to herself.

Asyr sat in silence a moment, confused. There were tears in the Bothan’s eyes. “After…you?”

“Asyr,” she said, slowly and quietly, “I am Asyr Sei’lar. I’m not dead. I’m very much not dead.”

Asyr’s mouth stopped working. She opened and closed it several times, but nothing came out—and for that matter, she realized she couldn’t decide what should come out.

Sei’lar spoke up. “I disappeared at the Battle of Distna. Undoubtedly your father has told you about it?”

Asyr nodded. “He said you were brilliant that day,” she croaked out, voice barely functional. “Best you ever flew.”

Sei’lar barked out a laugh. “Still wasn’t enough. I got blown out of my X-wing all the same. I don’t even remember pulling the eject lever, to be honest. But I clearly did.”

“Wait.” Asyr interrupted, shaking her head. “How…I can’t…”

Sei’lar stood and came around the front of her desk. She leaned back on it, folding her arms—a distinctly human gesture, Asyr knew better than most. “I’m sorry, Asyr. This must be such a shock. It is to me as well but…not like for you.” She sighed. “No, not that rough. But I’m…processing all the same.”

“Where…” Asyr’s brain still was not quite functioning. “Where have you been?”

Sei’lar looked at the floor. “What has your father told you about me?”

Asyr shook her head, stupefied. “So much. You were…a hero in our household. My parents told me bedtime stories about you. Knowing I was named after a Martyr of the Bothan people was…”

“Was what?”

“Was what motivated me to learn more about my heritage. What allowed me to feel like I could be Bothan, what led me to joining the movement against _ar’krai_.”

Sei’lar didn’t answer for a moment. She stared at the wall behind Asyr’s head, seemingly frozen. After some time, she looked down at Asyr, brow furrowed and fur flat on her neck. _Shame? I still sometimes second-guess my readings of Bothan body language._

“I thought it was best that he think I was dead.”

_Best for whom?_ The words themselves rang callous in Asyr’s ears, but she could tell from Sei’lar’s demeanor that she felt the weight of that choice. “How? Weren’t you recovered by allies?”

Sei’lar inclined her head. “I was. I asked them to report me dead, and they assented. Asyr, you have come to know Bothan culture. I’m sure you’ve not always found acceptance as a human-raised Bothan.” Asyr nodded. “Loving a human is much the same. Our relationship was seen as a scandal amongst many Bothans, and given the political ramifications of my position as Bothawui’s most prominent pilot, who I loved and who I married was all the more scrutinized. Borsk Fey’lya himself recommended I leave Gavin. I always hated him for that.”

Asyr felt the fur on the back of her neck stand up at the mention of the late chief of state’s name, even as her facial fur flattened in response to Sei’lar’s anger at him—of course, she had grown up knowing that many cursed Fey’lya’s name, but lately, after his noble sacrifice cemented his place as a Martyr, few dared speak ill of him. “Was Fey’lya part of your disappearance?”

“No.” Sei’lar shook her head emphatically. “No, I’d never have let him influence me like that. When I decided to disappear, I did it to fight him, to work to change Bothan culture so that a couple like myself and Gavin could exist in peace. I imagine Borsk preferred me as a Martyr rather than as a live wire, but he had nothing to do with it. No, it was only the confluence of events at Distna—being shot down, rescue by friends outside of the NRDF, the Rogues’ capture by the enemy, time alone in a bacta tank to think—that led to my conclusion that I could do more good, and save Gavin a lot of pain, if I didn’t officially exist.”

There it was again. The callousness. The insensitivity. Asyr could tell Sei’lar cared for her father, that she felt she had made a respectable choice, but Asyr’s stomach roiled all the same. Growing up, the first time she had seen her father cry had been as he described losing Sei’lar. One of the first times she had seen him really, truly angry was when someone suggested they could not _really_ be a family, being a human and a Bothan. One of the constants in her life was her parents, her siblings, and herself admonishing themselves and each other to be the best they could be, to emulate the best people they knew—and Sei’lar was always on that list they carried in their minds.

It did not matter that Sei’lar had thought she had done the right thing. She had wounded Asyr’s father deeply all the same. She had taken a convenient path out instead of facing him and making her choice frankly and openly. Asyr Sei’lar had betrayed Gavin Darklighter.

“How dare you,” Asyr growled, and had the fleeting thought that her voice had never sounded more Bothan. “You act as though your cold calculus, your…your political decision being _prudent_ makes up for what you did to my father.” Sei’lar opened her mouth but Asyr plunged on. “I imagine you’ve made a big difference to a great many Bothans. I imagine you’re a role model, but I wonder how much of it is built on a lie. The lie that you’re morally upright.”

Asyr was momentarily pleased to see Sei’lar flat-furred and wide-eyed, looking small and vulnerable—so different from the cool, commanding presence she’d seemed when Asyr first entered. But then, in the subsequent nanoseconds as Sei’lar prepared to respond, a flood of memories hit Asyr. Memories of Gavin speaking fondly of Sei’lar, telling stories of her heroism and kindness during their time together. Memories of Sera, her mother, smiling and telling the more embarrassing story that Gavin never wanted to impart of how he and Sei’lar met, where Gavin had come off as a bigot and Sei’lar’s fire and passion had come through so strongly. Memories of the many medals and group photos of Rogue Squadron on Gavin’s office wall, the pride of his career, his other family.

“I was wrong,” Sei’lar said. “Gavin deserved better. And I…I have wished a thousand times that I could change my path.”

“I’m sorry,” Asyr whispered.

Sei’lar shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. I’ve had years to work through this. Decades. I’ve had every self-deprecating and self-congratulatory and regretful conversation with myself that I could possibly have. You, though, are only just now learning all of this. _I_ am sorry, Asyr.”

“I want to understand better. I want to know what you’ve been doing. That it’s been worth it.”

Sei’lar took a deep breath. “I’m not sure yet whether it’s been worth it. I started making headway, certainly. Before the war. But the Vong…the xenophobia, and the threat of genocide, it all made everyone clam up, put up ramparts and become more insular. Our work lost ground. But now…” she gestured at the datapad, still displaying Asyr’s files. “It looks as though our people are losing faith in the idea of total war. That implies to me that we may be ready, once again, to learn to trust other peoples. To learn to integrate.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Asyr said. “Why I volunteered to deliver this data. I want—”

A loud beeping cut her off, and Sei’lar picked up her comlink. She had a brief, hushed conversation and then turned to Asyr. “Undercover Bothan commandos have been ID’d at the spaceport. They’re undoubtedly here for me. In all likelihood, they wouldn’t dare attack openly, but we can’t take the chance. We’re moving out.”

Suddenly, the apartment was a flurry of motion. Sei’lar gave orders, her Bothan and alien allies gathered and packed equipment, everyone strapped on sidearms. Asyr stood in the middle of the living room, frozen. Within minutes, the apartment was stripped of anything important.

Sei’lar turned to Asyr. “Dear, this is your chance. Come with us. If you were seen, leaving through public transit could lead to your arrest. With us, you can help save lives.”

_So much for getting back to the university._ “I’m in.”

 

 

 


End file.
